Moments of Warmth, in Winter
by xsilicax
Summary: A little moment of comfort and warmth in the depths of winter's chill.


**Moments of Warmth, in Winter**

**By:** xsilicax

**Summary:** A little moment of warmth in the depths of winter's chill. One of (possibly) several loosely connected scenelets of survival.

**Disclaimer:** Characters do not belong to me.

The Nightwatchman shivered, clasping her cloak tight against the chill wind threatening to tear it open. The snow that had earlier fallen was beginning to collect in drifts against the sides of the cottages, the covered well, and anything else that lay in the path of the strong gusts.

Marian picked her way forward carefully. The moon was heavily obscured by clouds, and the cobbles were becoming icy and treacherous as the night deepened. The snow on the path was compacted from use, but should she veer off course there were drifts feet deep. Pinpricks of cold started feathering her exposed forehead, and Marian muttered an oath, hopefully muffled by her mask. The snow was beginning to fall again, slow gentle swirls at first, but Marian knew they would soon pick up in pace, and tried to hasten her own.

The sack on her shoulder was empty of its goods – little enough though they had been. Winter had descended early in November, and now, in late February, what little grain, dried fruit and salted meat had been set aside to see everyone through this season was almost depleted. The heavy snowfall had made the carriageways impassable for much of the time, preventing anyone from purchasing food outside of the county. The milk was beginning to dry up, as cattle and goats were deprived of nourishment. Even the horses were becoming thin for want of food, their chests heaving in and out after the slightest outing, as they slowly lost their wind. More and more men, desperate to feed their families were risking blinding and mutilation by venturing out to the forests to hunt the King's deer; rabbits and even rats having become scarce.

Marian heard the next gust of wind before she felt it, the bare branches of the trees creaking, the thatch on the roofs ahead rustling and resettling. Leaving the path, she picked her way cautiously across the open ground before taking shelter against the stable door, watching her breath gust out in deep clouds. This was her third night out in a row trying to bring what small portion of food she and her father could spare to those who needed it more, and her efforts were beginning to wear on her. She laid her head to rest against the chilled wood, when a whinny from within attracted her attention.

Marian darted inside, quickly closing the door behind her to prevent the cold wind following; she made her way by touch over to the box where Chestnut was installed. Her beautiful horse, though awfully thin, scented her coming and greeted her with another whinny, his head thrust forward in hopes of a snack.

"Oh Chestnut," she gentled stroked his muzzle, "I have nothing for you."

The horse nuzzled into her hand, content with her gentle caress. Marian hugged him closer, enjoying the feel of his warm breath against her face after the cold outside. Her reverie was interrupted by a cough, quickly stifled, from the corner of the box.

Her head shot up immediately, "Who goes there!" she whispered as loudly as she dared. Even in this desperate cold the Sherriff's guards were sometimes all too on the spot and the price on the Nightwatchman's head was starting to creep up. There was a rustling of straw, and the sound of breathing, but she received no reply.

Marian took one hand away from Chestnut and reached beneath her cloak for the light dagger she carried for protection not wondering, in her moment of panic, at Chestnut's unconcern at the stranger's presence. Pointing it in front of her, she strained her eyes searching deeper into the darkness trying to detect movement. "Show yourself, horse thief! You shall find no easy prey here."

A shadow seemed to detach itself from a dark corner, and Marian aimed the knife forwards as it coalesced into the shape of a man. "Speak," she demanded. "Tell me what you are doing here before I call for the guards."

A brief chuckle was her reply before it broke off into another cough and finally a hoarse voice answering her, "The Nightwatchman calling for help from the Sheriff's guards? Be serious, Marian."

She cursed under her breath and hastily sheathed her dagger, ripping the mask off her face with her other hand. "Robin!" she hissed, "What are you doing hiding out in my stables?" she carried on, angry at the fright he had given her, "What are you doing out here this late, you idiot, and in this weather?

He coughed in lieu of reply, and, anger fading abruptly to concern, she reached out and clasped his wrist, feeling it quake. "Come. We shall freeze out here ere long. Come inside." She led him out of the stable door, bolting it behind her.

Marian's lips firmed into a grim line at his lack of reply. It was not like Robin to meekly follow orders, especially sensible ones. She swung herself up onto the stable eaves, unstrapping her rucksack and throwing it in through her open window before agilely following it in. Robin had followed her up into the lee of the stable, balancing his own pack, and waited until she stepped back and provided him room before swinging himself after her. Her breath caught as his knee slid back over the icy sill before he caught his balance and pulled himself inside, lowering himself gently to the floor, his eyes wide. Marian hastened to close the shutters behind him, blocking out the wintry gusts, her heart pounding at the close call; she would have to remember to lay down some salt before a similar fate befell her.

Her ears were throbbing in the sudden quiet and she unwound the scarf from around her head and neck before carefully placing another precious log onto her fire and coaxing it back into life with a poker. She wrung out the thin wool before hanging it up on the mantle above the fire, and peeled off her sodden gloves, laying them alongside, and attempting to warm her hands before the growing flame. They were numb with cold, and she flexed them several times before unfastening her woollen cloak and hanging it on the back of her door. Turning back, she eased herself tiredly onto the bed, facing Robin who had yet to move from by the window.

Her breath and his were forming misty clouds in the air; the open window having long since let escape the residual heat from her fire. The room was beginning to warm now with the shutter closed and the fire enlivened, but it was still chilly. Marian longed to change into her nightclothes, which were wrapped around a heated stone she had taken from the hearth earlier that night and buried in her bed in hopes of retaining some warmth. She could not however do that with Robin here, so she began to peel her boots from her feet, as she studied him.

His cheeks were reddened with the cold; wet strands of hair poking out from underneath his hooded coat. His head was resting against her wall, breath gusting out in little pants as he breathed in shallowly through chapped lips. Sensing her gaze, his eyes lifted to meet hers, and she quickly looked away, concentrating on removing her boot, before glancing back up at him. Snowmelt was dripping from his coat to join the puddles she had left behind from her own cloak, hastened on its journey by his minute trembling. He was scarf-less, cap-less, and even from here she could see he was painfully thin. His eyes glinted with their usual wit, as he watched her disrobing, but his movements were lethargic and his face was drawn.

"Robin," she beckoned in a low voice, "Come and sit by the fire."

She finally removed her obstinate boot, the wet leather adhering almost painfully to her skin as it fought to stay on her foot, peeling away with a sucking noise. Marian grimaced and glanced sharply at the door, holding her breath as she listened for any sign of her father hearing. She breathed a sigh of relief at the continued quiet, gently lowering the boot to the floor, hoping Edward would sleep through the night. The long spell of cold was beginning to pull him down despite her best efforts, and he seemed frailer than the season warranted.

Her hands reaching for her other boot were intercepted.

"Allow me, my Lady," Robin's creaking voice belied the devilment in it, as he gazed cheekily up at her. Before she could form a word of protest his gloved hands had clasped her ankle and calf, and were gently but somewhat awkwardly easing the leather off.

"Robin!" she exclaimed, her hands attempted to bat his away, unsuccessfully. When the heavy, sodden leather was finally removed, her toes curled in delight despite herself. She snatched her foot away from his hand as a naughty finger gently teased the sole of her foot. "Robin, stop it!"

He caught her foot again, resting her sole against his upper thigh as he knelt before her and started to tug down her damp stocking. Marian shivered at the feel of his mitts on her skin, saying, "Your hands are cold."

Robin leaned forward and softly breathed on her bare toes to warm them, before rubbing gentle patterns into them with his thumbs. She couldn't deny that it felt nice to have the ache soothed away, and graciously allowed him to give similar treatment to her other foot before kicking him away for his impertinence. He fell awkwardly backwards, having begun to rise to place her stockings and boots near the fire, and they both stared at the other in alarm, holding their breath and hoping the noise hadn't disturbed her father.

Their tableau was broken by Marian exhaling in relief, and Robin giving off a sudden shiver. Marian frowned at him, taking her stockings from his hand and, avoiding the growing patches of water on the floor, placing them to dry by the fire. He was still sitting in a pitiful heap on the floor, looking anywhere but at her as she tried to beckon him over.

"Robin," she hissed in frustration, finally getting him to look at her. "Pass me my boots?"

He eased himself slowly to his feet, bending forward to gather first one, then the other of her boots before carefully making his way over towards her. She took them from him, bidding him to sit down on the hearthrug as she placed them as close as she dared to the flames. He lowered himself cautiously, one hand fisting up to stifle a cough, his other wrapped around his knees for warmth.

Grabbing a towel she knelt before him, pushed his hood down, and began vigorously drying his fringe and beard where the snow had melted. His noises of protest were muffled by the fabric. When his protests turned into breathless coughs she stopped and lowered the towel, gently shushing him, her thumb stroking his lip. It startled her when he leaned into her touch, and the coolness of his cheek and chattering of his jaw ratcheted her concern into worry.

She busied herself with easing his woollen coat off while his breathing steadied, searching for room on the mantle to dry it out. "Robin, you sound terrible. What on Earth were you doing out in this weather?"

He frowned at her in concern, sharp eyes not missing her fatigue. "I could ask you the same."

The coarse linen shirt he wore beneath the coat was patched and well worn and she rubbed the fabric between her fingers before replying, checking to see how far the wet had penetrated. It was damp on the outside, but thankfully hadn't passed through to his undershirt. "I was taking food to the village. Emrys Lovell's husband was wounded fighting a wolf off his hens, and several of her neighbours have winter cough."

Robin's face tightened at the news, adding the names to his mental list of those in need of aid. "I was delivering firewood to Locksley and Clun since the Sherriff's latest covenant against fire-bote. He hopes to raise money by selling it to the desperate."

He barely noticed as Marian ran her hands over his gloves, feeling the scraps of bark and wood splinters embedded in them as she took them off to dry. "You surely did not carry sufficient firewood for two villages on your back, Robin?"

Robin gave a shy, proud smile, his lips cracking with the movement. "Will built us two sledges. Small, but sturdy, and they move so smoothly." He coughed harshly, his smile dropping, "That boy should be a master carpenter by now, his work is so skilful. He shouldn't be shivering in a makeshift hovel with the rest of us."

Marian squeezed his hands, leaning forwards to brush his cracked knuckles with her lips. "None of you should be out there." Robin rested his head on their joined hands, and the two sat like that in silence, letting the heat from the fire slowly thaw them.

"Why were you out so late though?" Marian murmured, her hair tickling the side of his cheek as she spoke, "And on your own? I'm surprised Much lets you out of his sight for so long."

"Food is scarce, Marian." She made no reply, the hollowness of his cheekbones making his statement self-evident. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and broke their embrace, looking away, clearing his throat painfully before continuing. "It takes everything we have to forage twice a week, and try to make one food and fuel drop a week to those most in need. We take it in turns to go." Marian squeezed his hands once more before letting them go, reaching for his boots, stilling her movement as he wearily said, "It took longer than I thought."

"Are you getting enough to eat?" Marian was careful not to look at him, knowing that he would put on his game face if she did. She could see the truth for herself in his fatigue. Five miles of walking spread over the six hours of daylight, even with the snow as deep as it was, would not have wearied a healthy man so.

"It is difficult, sometimes," he admitted, staring down at his hands as he fiddled with the edge of the rug. "When we are lucky we find deer or hare. We can melt the ice on the stream and try for fish when there are no deer. Any excess meat we have is traded for bread or vegetables in the villages, though there are precious little of those for anyone now."

He moaned in relief as she eased his boot off, her fingers examining a particularly worn spot on the heel. "I can trade bread with you, Robin, maybe a little dried fruit as well." Her father was in need of meat to strengthen him, and though she checked her snares several times a day, they had always been empty. Her heart lifted; this meeting was surely God-sent.

"Truly?" The desperate relief in his voice cut her deeply and she busied herself dispatching his second boot and finding homes for the pair beside her own. She rubbed fiercely at her eyes - the smoke prickled them - before turning back.

His arms were resting on his knees and he was watching her pensively. Feeling slightly giddy with relief, she decided to give him a taste of his own medicine and tickled the sole of his foot with the tip of her finger, amused when his toes curled in. His stockings were soaked and she exclaimed in horror at the holes at heel and toe, in one. Robin tried to curl his foot up underneath him, to hide it, but her fingers dug in firmly as she stripped them off him.

"I'm surprised Much let you go out in these, Robin," Marian said, lifting them out of his reach as he tried to snatch them back.

Robin glared fiercely at her, before fixing his gaze on his toes, working his jaw. "Much is ill. He has a horrible cough, and his throat pains him awfully. He can't bear to speak; Allan calls it a blessing."

"Poor Much," Marian took up the towel and started drying off his feet. "No doubt he was too busy running around after the rest of you to take time for to care for himself."

Robin nodded guiltily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Djaq has nothing to ease his cough, save hot water boiled with dried rosemary and pepper. He needs honey and barley, and warmth, but there is none to be had."

Marian squeezed his feet gently through the towel, easing herself down to sit cross-legged before him. "There is nothing to be had anywhere, until this snow lets up."

Robin nodded, breaking off to cough hard, his hand pressing against the pain in his chest. Marian put her hand over his and rubbed soothingly, her free hand brushing at his wind- roughened forehead and cheek while he caught his breath.

"Much isn't the only one who is ill," she murmured. The wind gusted ferociously against her shutters, and she shivered, thinking of Robin and his men, and all the other folk who were slowly freezing to death, praying for winter's end.

"You are cold," Robin croaked into her hair, "I should take my leave and let you rest."

Marian pushed him away from her in disbelief. "You are not going back outside tonight, Robin. You need rest and warmth, neither of which you will find out there."

"Marian, I cannot stay; they will see my tracks in the snow if I do not leave before it stops falling." He was fumbling to stand up, looking around for his boots.

The urge to shake him was nearly overwhelming; did the man have _no_ sense of self-preservation? "If needs be my horse will _escape_ and accidentally kick-up over any footprints you leave, but that wind does not sound like it intends to die any time soon, and I won't help you into an early grave."

"Marian..." his voice was raw, and she interrupted, unable to bear it.

"Stay, Robin," she pleaded. "I cannot risk waking my father up by fetching the food you need. We can trade in the morning." She saw the indecision and worry marring his face, and pressed on. "Much needs that food, Robin."

Robin stared at the window, listening as the wind and the wolves fought between themselves for the loudest howl, before nodding finally. "Very well, Marian, it's your head."

"Yes it is, and I intend to keep it. Now turn around."

"Turn around?" he whispered, in hoarse confusion.

"I'm not changing while you stare at me, Robin; try and remember how a gentleman acts, and turn around." She thrust the poker at him when he didn't move. "Put another log on the fire, and stoke it, please. No peeking."

He smirked at her, before turning his back, and Marian stripped down to her linen unders, burying herself in the covers as quickly as possible. She reached down for her still-warm nightdress, pulling it over her head and tugging it down her, while hidden under the sheets just in case his temptation had been too great. Her toes wriggled against the fire stone, rejoicing in the warmth it still exuded.

Robin had been every bit the gentleman, concentrating on the fire until she gave him leave to turn. "All cosy, Marian? Would you like me to tuck you in?" The fire cast shadows on his lean face, making his eyes glint as he curled himself onto the hearthrug, rolling himself up in it, facing her.

She scowled at him and turned onto her side, facing away from him, calling out a stern, "Goodnight," as she did so. A cough and a muffled, "Goodnight, Marian," was his reply.

Marian was restless. As her body warmed the sheets she rolled to lie on her back, relaxing slightly. She ached with tiredness yet tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable. She could hear Robin's congested breathing interjected with the occasional cough, and it kept rousing her.

The wind battered her shutters, drowning out the small noises he was making, and she shivered, gripped by a sudden fear that he had stopped breathing. "Are you awake?" she whispered, feeling silly as soon as she spoke.

A pregnant pause hung over her room, finally broken with a croaked, "No."

Marian closed her eyes in exasperation, yet couldn't keep the smile from her face at Robin being Robin. She sat up, and patted the empty side of her bed, "Come to bed, Robin."

He huddled tighter into the hearthrug, looking unaccountably shy; eyes tracing her outline. She reflexively pulled her sheets around up her shoulders, turning one side down in invitation. "If we're both going to be awake we may as well be warm."

Robin studied her face, seeing her jaw set in that expression he knew so well, and conceded, unfurling himself. He balked at stripping down to his linen undertunic and cloth leggings until she turned to face away from him with a muttered, "Fair is fair, I suppose."

The bed dipped as he sat down and shuffled under the covers, lying back with a cough and a weary sigh. Marian pulled the sheets up over him, and settled onto her back, resting her head on her pillow. She sighed as he wriggled, unable to get comfortable. "Robin, you will not convince me this bed is less comfortable than a pallet on the ground. Stop squirming and sleep."

He stilled, and the two of them lay there awkwardly in silence, staring up at the ceiling, listening to each other breathe.

Robin finally broke the quiet by turning his head to look at her, swallowing painfully before asking, "How is your father?"

She nearly giggled with nerves. Robin was finally in her bed, and the first thing he could think of was her father!

She sobered quickly, however, and took a deep breath, rolling onto her side to face him, eyes glinting wetly. "This cold preys on him, winter must break soon, it must!"

Robin shuffled his hand up towards hers, his fingers brushing against her palm. She closed her fingers on his, clinging tightly. His hand was dry and icy cold, but in that moment it was everything to her.

She could feel the tears chilling on her cheeks, wetting the pillow, before Robin's free arm wrapped itself around her shoulders and pulled her head to rest on his chest. She laid there, his hand gently stroking through her hair, feeling a faint rumbling under her ear as he murmured soothing words and hearing a slight crackling when he breathed in. Her eyes closed on wet lashes and her breathing slowly steadied. She was beginning to doze off when a cold foot sidled its way between hers.

Marian squealed and wrenched her hand out of his, kicking out at his foot. She fought to turn away from him, embarrassed at her reaction, and he released her reluctantly. She grabbed his hand as it fell away, and pulled it around her, squeezing it to let him know she wasn't angry, only startled. He curled up against her back, pulling the covers up tightly around their shoulders. His breathing was loud but warm against the back of her neck, and he wished her goodnight with a voice which was almost gone."

Marian slowly relaxed into his hold, feeling warm wherever he touched her. She clutched his cold hand against her stomach, trying to warm it, kissing his arm where her head rested on it. Robin nestled into her with a noise of contentment, and she wrapped her feet around his cold toes, grimacing at the chill. "Goodnight, Robin."

It wasn't the most restful night's sleep she had ever had. Unaccustomed to sharing her bed with anyone she had woken every time Robin stirred or sat up, coughing. Despite the interrupted sleep, it was one of the most contented nights she had had for a long time.

She awoke before dawn, and shivered her way out of bed to put some more wood on the fire. Her stockings were dry, and she hastily pulled them on before quietly drawing a chair nearer to the crackling wood, curling up and wrapping herself in a thick blanket.

She had managed to sneak out of bed without waking him, though he had one hand reaching out across the indentation where she had been, as though searching for her unconsciously. The covers were drawn over his head, tucked behind one ear so that one side of his face was exposed. There was a slight flush in his cheek, and she could hear his troubled breathing from here.

She sat there watching him sleep, a fond smile on her face. Picking up his stockings to see if they had dried during the night, Marian frowned as her finger slipped through one of the gaping holes, and she reached over for her needle box, extracting a bone needle and struggling to thread it in the dim light. Needlework was not her greatest strength, but she had plenty of practice darning both hers and her father's socks, and she made short work of it, biting the thread off just as Robin turned over, his face showing signs of distress.

Marian laid the stocking down, and sat beside him, still wrapped in her blanket. She stroked a soothing hand across his forehead, glad to feel it warmer than yesterday, yet a little concerned at the indication of fever. His breathing steadied, and his face relaxed under her treatment, but she sensed he was near to waking and reluctantly let her hand drop. He would want to leave as soon as he could, and she still had much to do before she was ready to let him go.

Dressing hastily, she grabbed his pack from where he had discarded it yesterday, venturing downstairs, her breath clouding in front of her. It was frigid; she was up and around long before Alice would lay the fires. Moving quietly, she made her way into the kitchens, starting a fire in the hearth, and putting some water on to boil. She opened Robin's pack and took out the venison, hanging it on the rabbit hooks. Opening the larder door, she replaced the meat with a half loaf of bread, a handful of dried nuts and berries, and two very wilted parsnips, all wrapped in cloth. Precious little, in truth, but more than she should really spare; she grabbed an earthenware jar as an afterthought, adding it to Robin's pack and shouldering it.

Taking a wooden bowl, she sprinkled a few oats into it, adding the now-boiling water, and stirring. They had no milk left, but she put a tiny spoonful of cream in the mixture. It looked very unappetising, but it was hot, and she knew Robin needed the nourishment to make the long trek back to the outlaw camp.

Careful not to spill, she hastened her way upstairs, not wanting the food to cool. Robin had just sat up in bed as she entered, coughing painfully as the movement stirred up his lungs. He was clutching the covers to his mouth, trying to muffle the noise, in deference to her father. Finally the fit relaxed its grip on him, and he sagged back against the pillows, exhausted. Marian sat next to him, eyes wide with worry, and placed the bowl in his hands, bidding him to eat.

Robin cupped the bowl grateful for the warmth, while looking at her with a suspicious eye. "Where is yours?" His voice was roughened with sleep and coughing and Marian wished she had added some honey to the porridge to soothe it.

"Eat it, Robin," she took one of his hands off the bowl and placed the spoon in it. "Quickly, before it cools down."

Robin's stomach was growling fiercely as the smell wafted up to him, and her eyes were pleading with him to eat, he sighed and lifted the spoon.

There was little enough in the bowl, and it was gone before he knew it. He licked wooden dish to get the very last scrapes out, then froze in embarrassment, realising Marian was watching him, her smile vacillating between fond and concerned. He hated putting that expression there, and cleared his throat painfully. "Thank you."

She rubbed his shoulder quickly, pushing herself up before gathering his clothes and bringing them over to him. "I'm sorry to throw you out, but dawn will be breaking soon, and you need to leave if you want to get away unnoticed."

He pulled on his shirt, stocking and leggings while hidden under the covers, before levering himself out of her bed and over to the fire. Stooping to pull on his boots he noticed the lack of holes in his sock, and flashed Marian a warming look of gratitude. She smiled back, handing him his woollen coat. He grimaced, feeling it still damp, but he hadn't really expected anything else. It hadn't been dry in months.

Fully clothed, he held his hands out to his sides, and did a small spin, as though showing off new clothes. "Do I meet your approval?" he asked cheekily.

She looked him up and down, slowly. He was too lean and the flush in his cheeks told her he was still ill, but the warm sleep and the food had helped with his overall fatigue. Still, something was missing, and she frowned, answering his question, "Not quite."

Grabbing her scarf from off the mantle, she wrapped it around his neck, and over his hair, tucking it in and pulling his hood up over his protests. "That's better," she said, satisfied, settling a quick kiss on his forehead. "Now go, quickly."

He wrapped his arms around her, and embraced her warmly before stepping away towards the window. "You are the greatest woman in all of England."

She looked away, embarrassed, and busied herself gathering up his pack.

He breathed in deeply before opening the shutters, coughing as the icy air hit his tender lungs. The flame in the fire faltered at the strong winds, and Marian shivered at the thought of sending him back out into that weather. "At least the snow has stopped," she said, feebly.

Robin nodded, squaring his shoulders before taking the pack she handed to him and strapping it on.

"Take care, Robin," she adjusted his scarf once more.

"Take care, Nightwatchman," he tugged her blanket more closely around her shoulders, stealing a kiss, before leaning out the window and swinging himself down out of sight.

Marian moved over to the window watching him enter the stable to retrieve the sledge he had hidden, shivering as the cold stung her. Robin trudged back out, bolting the door carefully behind him. He caught sight of the blanket flapping at the window, and looked up, surprised to see her standing there. He scowled as she shuddered in the cold and gestured fiercely at her to close the shutters and stay warm, refusing to move until she did so.

So Marian closed the shutters, knowing he would stubbornly stand there and freeze to death. She undressed and got back into bed, lying where Robin had slept. She did not stand there watching him disappear into the tree line, while the gusting wind blew away his tracks, leaving no evidence he was there.

She went to bed and lay there, fretting about the worn figure struggling through deep drifts, dragging a sledge with its precious cargo on, and coughing in the bitter cold.

When she finally fell asleep, her pillow was wet with fallen tears.

**A/N:** If you made it this far and want to help someone trying to get back into the writing jag, please leave a comment, positive or negative as you like - it all helps.


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